


Things You Wanted to Say

by LitLocked



Category: BBC Sherlock
Genre: M/M, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-01
Updated: 2014-03-01
Packaged: 2018-01-14 04:37:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1253137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LitLocked/pseuds/LitLocked
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My extrapolation of John's feelings post-Reichenbach. I know there are so many (excellent ones) out there, but I just had to write my own.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Things You Wanted to Say

John Watson stared at his blog. His eyes bore into the text, but his mind and heart were still transfixed on the tombstone that was as cold and unfeeling as he had once believed the man underneath to be. Him, whose name the tombstone bore. For a moment, John envied the tombstone, for it still had something in common with Sherlock Holmes. 

There weren't going to be any more posts, John knew. This is where it all ends. The blog had marked the beginning of a new life; a life that had seemed normal and extraordinary all at once. A symbol of his return to his natural state: the adrenaline junkie of a soldier, back in the battlefield. Mycroft had figured as much on their very first meeting. Back then, John had been haunted by memories of the war, memories that his co-occupant of 221 B Baker Street had helped him get over. Now he was in the middle of another war: learning how to deal with the gaping chasm in that same flat.  And without a Sherlock to help him tide over it. 

He scrolled down the cases, remembering every detail with a pang; noticing as he read on, how correct Sherlock had been: the only significantly long posts were the ones about the world's only consulting detective.  _"You mean me. You're typing a lot."_ He might have titled it  _The Blog of John H Watson_ , but how inescapably Sherlock pervaded the content of his blog was matched only by the omnipresence of the man in his life as a whole. Nothing happened to him before Sherlock Holmes had come along; and with him gone, nothing seemed likely to happen to him, ever. 

  
A Study in Pink, their very first case together. When John first realized what a mess he had got himself into by moving in with the man who had read his life history in his hair cut and limp. The man who had had a skull for a friend before meeting John.

The Blind Banker, when using Sherlock's card had almost cost John his life. A life that he would now willingly risk just to have that infuriating flatmate of his back again. 

The Great Game, where Moriarty had threatened to blow him up, and where he had first seen concern on Sherlock's face. The self-proclaimed sociopath might have bragged on about how he didn't have a heart, but even Moriarty knew better. 

A Scandal in Belgravia, where John had been simultaneously irked and fascinated by the attraction between Sherlock and The Woman, Irene Adler.  

The Hounds of Baskerville, where Sherlock had admitted to having only one friend. Had proceeded to lock him up in a laboratory, and still managed to remain perfectly adorable through it all, like only Sherlock could. 

The final case, which John had still not mustered enough courage to type out, because he couldn't bear to have his heart ripped out again.  _Goodbye, John_ were the most gut-wrenching two words he had ever heard anyone say. 

  
He found himself smiling wistfully as he remembered how frustrating each case (and Sherlock) had been until solved, how exhilarating once Sherlock had had a Eureka! moment, and how Sherlock, forever disdainful of John's blogposts, secretly enjoyed the praise anyway. 

And yet, it wasn't the thrill of the cases that he missed, it was the man. The man who could sulk on the couch like a toddler one moment and reveal unflattering details about anyone or anything the next. The man who was every bit the condescending, annoying dick everyone thought him to be, yet the man to whom John had attached himself for some inexplicable reason. The man who had pulled his Doctor out of the grips of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, only to jump off a rooftop & leave him worse off than he had found him. The man whom the whole world now saw as a fraud, but the man whose innocence and genius John Watson was willing to vouch for until his own final breath. 

  
Yes, John had indeed expressed his admiration for Sherlock's deductions in every possible variant available to the English language, but he had left the most important things unsaid. He had never told him how the Doctor would always be lost without his Detective, or that every Watson must have his Holmes.  


End file.
